


The Cold King

by SunAndMoon (LadyMorgaine)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27223579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMorgaine/pseuds/SunAndMoon
Summary: Having run away from a demanding family years earlier, Seungkwan is content being a mercenary for hire with his mentor, Seungcheol. A chance job with a spoiled and pampered lord goes very wrong, and he's dumped into the middle of an epic fantasy.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

_The air was so cold it was past the point of stinging at his skin, past the point of making him shiver. It felt all-encompassing, as if it possessed a bitterness that hated his for not being cold. His breath rasped as it went in and out of his chest. It was painful to breathe, daggers stinging at his lungs. The circle of mountains loomed around him in jagged peaks that stabbed the night sky, black against the presence of the stars’ parade. There were so many of them in a great wash over him, a frozen stream in the heavens that blinked white and faint red and green at her._

_He turned his head and heard a crunch as the frost building up on his hair cracked. He had no idea how far south he was; the stars made no sense to him. All he could see, like a star settled onto the ground, was a tiny figure a little bit off, clutching a toy that shone brighter than he imagined anything could but the sun. The light blinded him, and yet his eyes did not water, his nose did not run with the futile attempt of warming up the air._

_As his eyes cleared, he discovered that dread and sadness could be colder than the icy place he was in. The light from the toy revealed a child too cold to wiggle, clutching at the toy. It stared up at the sky with impossibly black eyes, marred only by starbursts of gold that seemed to echo the sky above. As he looked further, he saw the light touch a ring of corpses around the child, arrayed outwards as if they died defending it._

_Further, further he looked, accompanied to the cracking of hair and slow, desperately heavy blink of his eyes. He stood amongst other corpses, a drift of them, misshapen and rent apart. A small part of his mind insisted they didn’t smell, that the viscosity that sucked at his was congealed blood, black as ink. He ignored it, having no need for madness, and started forward towards the child. It was only when he loomed over it that it looked at him and he puzzled out that it was a boy. The boy didn’t wail when he picked him up, though he was very cold in his arms, nor did he do anything when he started walking away._

_It was a long road to safety. It was… it was…_

* * *

Seungkwan flailed himself awake from the freezing dream he had, losing grip of it almost as soon as he sat up. His body was wet with cold sweat, and he cursed as he realised the quilt had slipped off him, likely from the way he must have squirmed in his sleep. Ignoring the wrinkles in the sheet beneath him, he pulled it back up and cuddled into the warmth it still held, too freaked out to fall asleep again.

The queasy feeling of missing something important lingered in his stomach, and not for the first time he cursed the fact that he had only received a half-measure of the Sight. His grandmother had had the full ability, which was likely why the family considered her mad and kept her on calming agents all his life. Still, he remembered conversations with the frail old lady before her death, where she had tried to explain the unutterable depths of a seer’s curse and what fragile measures of protection she had learnt from long familiarity with it.

She had passed away before she could explain too much of it. His family, only too happy that the curse had skipped Seungkwan’s mother entirely, had not considered that sometimes such power skips generations, and that he might have inherited some of it. He had gotten none of the other arts either, not the gentle hearth-witchery that might make him less of a failure at running a home, nor the healing gifts that most Antarians had in some measure. He could not even ease his own sister’s moon-time discomforts.

He thanked in equal measure the intelligence that had recognised that naming his nightmares anything more than a child’s fancy would be utter folly. Antaria did not treat its Gifted well, especially not for gently reared Children of the Blood. They preferred their heirs sweet and uncomplaining, not given to giving trouble, and definitely not better with a sword than a spatula. _That_ was for second-heirs and other children.

Not for the first time, Seungkwan decided that it was better that His Grace, Lord Seungkwan ven’Trishan e’Morath was dead in everyone’s minds, and on that cheery thought decided to get up. Nothing would be eased by lying abed, least of all his temper.

He didn’t notice the cold fading from the floorboards as he got up, feet hitting the carpet first. Yanking his sleep-shirt down correctly, he ignored the way his trousers had crept up around his knees and buckled his sword on. If he had any measure of luck, Seungcheol would have left some water in the inn’s ancient water-heating system, and the thought of breakfast always had a way of cheering his up.

He emerged from the antique bathing room fifteen minutes later, short hair still dribbling into his neck. It was one of the first things he had shed upon leaving Antaria a decade ago, and back then it had pained him to cut off hair that had never been touched before, save to keep the ends healthy. His head had spun for days after, not used to the lack of weight. The second thing had been to colour it something else than the shock of white that announced his part of the High Ten. The first time he had done it with grime and cuttlefish ink. These days he had considerably more money, and kept it to a medium, unremarkable brown.

Seungcheol waited for him in the inn’s common-room, sturdy arms settled on the gleaming bar as his head lolled to the side, engrossed in flirting with the bartender’s wife. He had the build of a warrior god, muscled and handsome on top of it, and more than tall enough to pass for superbly attractive. Given his own unfashionable height, it said something that even in socks Seungcheol was at least a head taller than he. Some sneered about his lack of culture, but only until he flashed his axe at them.

_Or his chest. Cheol-hyung isn’t shy at all._

Seungkwan found a seat at the bar, grinned at the alewife’s blushing form, and elbowed his partner in the ribs. “Stop flirting before her husband kicks us out,” he muttered, amused. “I’d like to leave this inn under my own recognisance at least.”

“Oooh,” Seungcheol shot back. “Big words from such a little girl. You hoping that pig-sticker you carry will back you up?”

Seungkwan tamped down a grin. _Selithaen_ was no pig-sticker but an elegant long blade instead, masterfully carved in a language no one understood anymore. Compared to the axe Seungcheol carried, though, it might as well be a knitting needle. “Why would I be jealous when you have to carry Back-biter over there to make you look dangerous?”

Seungcheol threw his head back and laughed uproariously, but gave up on the alewife with no ill feelings. “At least sleeping in hasn’t dulled your wits. I’m going to need them this morning. We’ve an appointment with a group that’s travelling to the Cold King’s coronation ceremony. They need guards for the noble they’re trying to foist off on him.” his eyes rolled. “You know how the Elantans are about their heirs.”

Seungkwan suppressed an uneasy shiver as he murmured, turning the assignment over in his mind. Elantans were not famed for their giving ways, but everyone bowed down to the Cold King these days. He had not earned the moniker by being a warm, fuzzy bunny. Instead, in this ancient world of ruins and long-forgotten magic, he had managed to put nearly the whole continent under his control, and those neighbours retaining their independence moved very carefully around him.

About all anyone knew is that he claimed to be of the ancient blood of Ulandris Farstrider, last and greatest of the world-kings, back in the age where miracles were still commonplace. The world had lost much in the last great wars, from the knowledge of how to firelessly heat the water like this inn’s water-system, to the magic behind the great floating land-barges some noble houses still had. Things just _worked_ back then. Now, mostly, people said the world didn’t have enough magic to support all the great works.

Just about every political power out there wanted a tie to the Cold King, even if half his claims were untrue. Having a link to a world-king came in handy at times, even if he was apparently an arrogant, cold bastard of the first water.

He hadn’t thought that the Elantans of all people would move through this backwater town. They were one of the greatest sea-powers that existed on Pytheria, at least from what noble lessons he could remember. Rather oddly, it made the requisition of male mercenaries more logical – no Elantan worth her salt would let her menfolk be seen by other women if it could be helped at all. Not only were they generally prized for their beauty, but legend had it that once upon a time, a particularly rapacious king had a school of sirens subdued to do is bidding, turning them into consorts. The sirens hadn't taken kindly to that, and generations later still led the country. Apparently the song of their singing could rob a man of his senses.

His irreverent side questioned the wisdom of allowing Seungcheol around a young, nubile beauty with no outside experience.

He broke from his musings when Seungcheol shoved at him again, adding a pinch for good measure. “Ow.”

“Serves you right. I’ve been telling you to get off that chair for the last five minutes. They’re here.”

Seungkwan blinked and looked as he slid off his chair. Now that he paid attention again, he could hear the faint, hissing sounds of Elantan spoken outside, and followed his partner without a word.

Whilst Seungcheol handled the introductions cheerfully, he had a look or two at the palanquin at the head of the freight caravan. They had conceded a little to the colder weather and secrecy in that the curtains surrounding it seemed like good wool, not the gossamer silks it would have been in Elanta, and the slaves hunkering about had actual clothes on, not just oil and loincloths. The rest seemed as gaudy as always: a coat of metal leaf that would see any street kid scrape it off in under a minute, and handsome carvings of exotic flowers and fruits. There were two young men standing off to one side, likely secondary handmaidens. The primary one would be inside, with the noble-born lord.

“…and this is my partner, Seungkwan,” he heard Seungcheol say, and snapped his attention back.

The female guard delegation looked at him with politeness covering the distaste in their eyes, and to a woman they decided not to bow.

He cast his eyes down briefly, then lifted them again, trying to create the impression that whilst he respected their customs, he was not bound by them. “Excellencies. I am Seungkwan, at your service. May the gaze of the Father Above bless this endeavour.”

They started slightly at that. “ _Mahiram,_ ” the leader murmured. “ _Washani_ Seungcheol, your terms are acceptable to us. We wish to leave immediately. Understand, we are not able to guarantee your safety in _in’hiram_. Your only task is to provide for the safety and comfort of the noble lord Jeonghan. Given that you are men, you may speak to his servants. You will stand as assurance of his chastity and worthiness until delivery takes place at the negotiated time in Cascade. If there is a matter you need to bring to our attention, you may approach Kefta. She will tell us.”

Seungkwan looked at the giant of a woman pointed out just to the rear of the palanquin. Though she sat simply robed on the cart, she had the curiously soft build of one that had been in a palace all their life.

Seungcheol looked, nodded and shrugged. “As agreed, we will take half now, and half later.”

Instead of the heavy red-gold he would have expected, Seungkwan watched as they hauled out a thin bar made of a silvery crystal, and fought against the impulse to arch his brows. Spell-sung crystal, and it was from the way it vibrated against his stunted senses, and more than he had seen at any one time out of the deep deserts. If this was only half of what Cheol- _hyung_ had charged, they would be rich men when they returned from Cascade.

Seungcheol took it, looked at the shine and nodded. His magical senses were much better developed than Seungkwan’s, given that he was a _nordinner_ , with all the battlecraft and rock-magic that indicated. “We’re both packed,” he said easily. “We can leave when you wish.”

The women nodded, looking thankful at the small sizes of their pack. As they neared the palanquin, Seungcheol motioned Seungkwan closer, hopping up on the wagon next to the eunuch herself. The body attendants shot him looks from behind their veils, but made no comment as he settled in to walk to one side of it. The train set off, the first steps on the long journey to Cascade in the south, and Seungkwan got one last look at jolly old Skellig-town, with its friendly people and unexpected hot water heaters to offset the packed-dirt roads.

Hours of marching didn’t make his opinion of their travelling party any better. He had taken lunch with the outside servants as they stopped for that, watching the absolutely silent carriers eat their own rather more substantial lunch. Seungcheol was already great friends with Kefta apparently, but then he could make friends with a testy storm-knave. There were cards out, set in some kind of Triad setup.

He blinked back to the group as the curtain beside him swished open a bare degree. “The noble lord Jeonghan expresses curiosity as to your name,” an older male voice came from within.

“I am called Seungkwan, _Umerrim_ ,” he said. “I do not have the benefit of a family name.”

There came a twitter of Elantan, which sounded more like a bird than the snakes he usually thought of. “The correct title is _Shaharim_.”

Seungkwan bit his tongue, but bowed his head as much as he could whilst watching the road ahead. “I stand corrected, _Shaharim_. My apologies.” Whatever his problems with nobility, they were his and private, and their payment paid for respect as well.

More conversation, and this time the curtain twitched just slightly more open. “The noble lord Jeonghan wishes to know why you are being punished.”

That one escaped Seungkwan, no matter how he tried to puzzle it out. “I do not understand, _Shaharim_. Punished?”

“Your hair. It is short, like a prisoner’s.”

Seungkwan’s cheeks coloured dully. No matter how many years had passed, he still felt the shame in the memory as he hacked off his waist-length hair on the fish wharf, payment for part of his trip out the country and some food. Like most runaways, he had been scandalously unprepared. It did not bother him these days, except at odd times like these. “It is short to avoid giving my opponent undue advantage in battle. Keeping it short and bound back is a tactical decision.” Not the truth, not all of it, but close enough.

This time the sounds of conversation from inside sounded frankly incredulous, but thankfully no further attempts at conversation came. He did not even see the lord until that evening when the noble lord expressed a desire to go to the bathroom.

“Apparently it’s beneath his dignity to piss in a pot and give it to someone to take care of,” Seungcheol muttered as he watched ten guards forge out to beat the bushes for travellers, wildlife and offensive trees. “You wouldn’t believe the stories I’ve heard from back where they come from.”

Seungkwan eyed the attendants coming forward to hold up long sheets of pale blue silk to form a box around the noble lord’s exit from the palanquin. They stayed around him, and only his position allowed Seungkwan to see the man inside, followed by a slightly taller one. Both were heavily veiled, though the cloth on the one in the back seemed far richer, much more sumptuous. From what he could guess, the noble lord was about the same height as he, but fragile-looking in the heavy robes. “You know,” he muttered back. “I’m starting to. Come on.”

That was the only bit he saw of the noble lord Jeonghan on the first day, or indeed the first ten days. Seungcheol and he made turns walking beside the palanquin, and the days dragged on in calm boredom. The women didn’t speak to them, the men didn’t speak to them. About the only person that spoke to them was Kefta, who was quick to share tiny sweets from about her person and stories of the Shuttered Palace back home.

From the little he could tell, both guessed at and shared, none of them had ever seen the Cold King before, but decided to gift the lord as bride to him upon hearing somewhere that he had once claimed a marriange partner should be like a bird, which he took to mean decorative and musical, not tearing people apart and shitting all over everything. Apparently Jeonghan was the most musical of the available sons of the Kalifa, a woman blessed with a bounty of them. Obscurely, Seungkwan felt rather sorry for Jeonghan, and counted it a blessing that he got away when he did.

On the eleventh day of walking and answering the odd question, Seungkwan finally saw the noble lord’s face for the first time. They had gone on the now-usual bathroom break, when the lord announced a desire to take the evening air. It was, from what he could tell of the looks the women shot at each other, at most irritating but not totally against the grain, and the silk box got set up a small enclosed area for him as the women got cleared away. Kefta and Seungcheol stood guard outside the pale blue box, whilst the attendants stood inside, having attached the silks to a light folding framework. Quicker than he would have thought, the area inside was transformed to a handsome bower.

Seungkwan had been detailed to watch inside the enclosure, and so stood in one corner watching the most curious sight come out. The lord that arrived first was wizened from age, yet moved upright, and supported the steps of the man that came next. Jeonghan had a great beauty, though his ice-blue eyes proclaimed he wasn’t pure Elantan blood. His hair stretched down to his knees even in the braided arrangement, and he took delicate steps until he sat on the chair placed there for that purpose.

For all that he was quite slim, he had a man’s shoulders from what Seungkwan could see, lithe and masculine, with a grace that made Seungkwan feel like a constipated hippo.

“The noble lord Jeonghan will grace you with conversation,” the first man said, which sounded more like an order and less like an invitation. He pointed to a section of the plush carpeting, obviously expecting Seungkwan to kneel down.

Seungkwan gritted his teeth, but knelt, putting Selithaen by his side. “As the noble lord commands.”

There followed some silence before Jeonghan spoke, still not in the common language of the traders his servant was using.

“The noble lord wishes to know whether you have any music.”

Seungkwan’s mind spun back to lessons over clavier and lute, most of which ended with a switch over his knuckles or bleeding fingertips until he learnt out of self-defense. “I am able to play the lute, _Shaharim_. I do not know any of the songs of your country unfortunately.”

The attendants in the enclosure tittered as if he had said something extremely funny, but did not deign to explain.

The wizened servant did not reply, merely snapped his fingertips, and a lute was summoned from outside the enclosure as Kefta stuck her head in. Minutes later she stuffed it into Seungkwan’s hands, then settled back to wait.

Seungkwan felt the unfamiliar narrow lines of the lute, and strummed its strings gently to find out what they had tuned it for. Keeping his movements as bland as possible, he re-tuned it to something he could work with and began to play. The ballad wasn’t one from his country, but a more rollicking air from Ollesh, in which they found themselves.

Apparently it found favour, because Jeonghan – his mind struggled after so many days to leave off the ‘noble lord’ even in his thoughts – leant forward and listened raptly, head tilting to the side exactly like an inquisitive bird’s. One finger tapped with after some time, which was apparently a sign of great favour, and he kept Seungkwan playing for an hour before nodding his satisfaction. His hands, numb from the unaccustomed exercise, were almost too numb to catch the thin golden bangle the old servant tossed to him.

“The noble lord accepts your performance as adequate, though not the equal of Elantan musicians,” he said. “You will play for him an hour every night.”

Seungkwan bowed over the lute and bangle, starting to feel oddly like that adage of a person marrying for money earning it on their back. _Cheol-hyung is definitely getting the better end of the bargain here._ “Thank you, _Shaharim,_ ” he muttered. “I would thank the nobly lord myself, but I am uncertain whether he speaks the trade-tongue?”

“The noble lord Jeonghan would not sully his mouth with your pig-language,” the old man sniffed. “But I will tell him what you said.”

_The noble lord Jeonghan_ , Seungkwan thought very privately, _is going to have to sully himself with more than just our pig-language, unless he’s expecting an immaculate marriage bed._ He said nothing out loud, merely stood and bowed again, handing the lute back as the servant translated.

He escaped soon afterwards and tossed Seungcheol a filthy look when he saw him playing jellaba with Kefta, and retreated to make his evening ablutions. For a single stubborn moment, he grumbled that no one carried silks around for _him_ , but put the thought out of his mind determinately. Captivity was captivity, even if it came with silken drapes.

* * *

The Cold King stood in front of the mural in the captured palace of Cascade, broad shoulders shrugging irritably underneath the rich tunic his manservant insisted on. He wasn’t sure what the man was on, claiming that his inherent nobility must shine, but the scion of the Farstrider was not allowed to go around in anything less than brocade.

It faded next to the irritation the mural inspired in him. Though he had been trying to decrypt the prophecy that it contained, most of it still lay beyond his most learned scholars. On the face of it, it was a tall person with uncertain features, though he could see the outlines of a strong jaw in there. It had wings, great arching things of hide exquisitely detailed, which suggested they had enough of the ancient blood to bear a blood-beast, but it was the sword that was most lovingly detailed.

Here in this country they called it _Osganach_ , the fire at the heart of creation. Each country that he had seen had a similar legend, though this was one of the few that depicted the bearer winged. The sword was a famed one; if his research served him right, it had crowned three kings and deposed four, and most of the accounts tied it to the fate of the world. Some said it was metal blessed by the gods, whilst others said the lost fire of the ice-dragons was stored inside it. All of them agreed that it was death for anyone but the Bloodline to touch, and he wanted it with a passion that surprised him.

His had not been an easy childhood so far. His earliest memories were of the stars above him, cold and distant as they leached heat from his bones. Though he could not remember his precise origin, the farmers that raised him claimed a great figure had entrusted him to them, getting their solemn vow not to forsake him. Oddly, they never had, and though it was a hard life being a farmer that far south, they were never plagued by the diseases and hardships that normally befell farmers. He had had plenty of food and love, if not freedom and money.

It had not mattered to him, and it still did not. He felt dim affection for the people that raised him, but was aware that he was not destined to be a farmer. Something in the heart locked away in ice drove him onwards, gave his actions and words the fire he could not feel, and he seldom thought of them. Only the sword roused him, caused him to feel a flicker of life, and he could not think of a thing he would not trade for it.

He turned from the mural to look at the man pacing beside him. Wonwoo was somewhat taller than he, with the rangy build of the southern isles, and the brogue that went with it. Intelligent, and quiet with it, and also the best second that he could have hoped to find. “How go the plans?”

Wonwoo looked up from admiring a woman in the next portrait over. “Fine and well. Everyone is jumping around, looking for … blankets and such.” One shoulder shrugged, indicating his utter disinterest in the matter. His husband, the chatelaine of this apparently elegant heap, ran the castle with a fine hand. saw no reason to interfere, and plenty not to. “Mingyu tells me that we’ll be able to house the foreigners in style.”

It mattered little to him whether they slept on slabs of stone. Sometimes, especially after a night on the infernally soft bed they gave him here, he would have preferred a slab of stone.

“How long?” he demanded quietly.

“A few months. Are you that eager to start picking at the fruits they’ll deliver?”

The Cold King shot his best friend and advisor a flat look. “They mean nothing to me except a way into their countries. My men need rest before they take up the axe and sword again.”

Wonwoo shot him a look back, but wisely said nothing as they strolled along the corridor.


	2. Chapter 2

The season progressed from late summer to early autumn as they took the travel-road up to Hayani high in the mountains, a trade-town of some repute sitting as it did in the throat of the one easy pass into the country now known as Raikin. That news had arrived some few days earlier by means of fast courier, letting all know the name the Cold King had chosen for his new country. Seungkwan had been too shocked at the fact that neither Jeonghan nor the others could read to say much when they pushed it into his hands.

It was an impressive document on some kind of golden parchment sandwiched between two sheets of wood and protective pages. For all the illumination on the document, the king’s new device was remarkably spare and elegant, consisting of some kind of winged beast coiled around a sword. The beast was a strange shade of iridescent blue-white, the sword a shade of dark metal, and there was no motto whatsoever. _Possibly because ‘Bow before I slaughter you’ doesn’t fit neatly onto a crest,_ he mused to herself.

“What does it say?” the leader of the Elantans asked.

He cleared his throat. “Hail. Know ye that forevermore, the countries on the west of the Verrain Mountains, from the foot of Loudon Pass, will be known as the Kingdom of Raikin. Its ruler, High King Ordenial Farstrider, first of his name, welcomes you, and bids you come to his coronation at the Jewel of the South, Cascade. You are to present yourself there at the twenty-fifth of the month Keriam, Tianthel’s Reckoning.”

“Tianthel’s Reckoning?” he heard from behind the screen Jeonghan’s attendants held up.

“It’s the old calendar,” Seungcheol said, frowning. “They sometimes call it the scholar’s calendar. If I’m correct, we have about six months to get there. It should be more than enough, provided we don’t dally.”

Jabrek frowned, fingering the jewelled pommel of the dagger at her waist. “This styling of Farstrider, this old calendar…” She turned to spit. “He wishes to resurrect the old kingdom then, to rule over us again.”

Seungkwan peeked at the back of the parchment just in case there was more there, frowning as he folded it up. he had in his life seen some correspondence where the titles alone stretched a page and a half. This had one short paragraph, a picture and a scented seal hung with purple ribbons. He handed it over to Jabrek, fighting the urge to wipe his hands. “Cheol-hyung, where is Cascade?”

“It’s in one of the cups of the Isendris range, if it’s still called that,” Seungcheol replied. “Very beautiful, a castle built over a waterfall. We can catch a shortcut by barge up the Henriot to where it becomes the Tithelu, then up the main fork to the trade-town below the castle. Or, if the dirigible system is still up, and the learned ladies prefer that, we can take to skyship at the foot of Gaelis. It should cut three months off our trip.”

“The noble lord Jeonghan will travel in the comfort and ease that is due his station,” Volnayan said sternly from behind the silk screen. “Cost is not an issue.”

Seungkwan would not have caught the twitch on Jabrek’s face if he were not watching for it, but it was there, and he had to fight to suppress his grin. _It’s true, Elantan blood runs gold._

“If the learned ladies will allow,” he spoke up, “Three extra months at the palace are not to sneer at. You’d steal a march on the Antarians and the Ciessese, to say nothing of the realms on the Western Continent. And if the Cold King plans on reuniting the continent again, he could do so with an Elantan consort at his side, and preferential treatment for his beloved country.”

Seungcheol cast him a _look_ , but nodded afterwards. “Seungkwan has the right of it. I am not too conversant with high politics, but it is a tactical advantage that we should not overlook. We pass close to there, and add to that the fact that you pay us per day…”

That decided Jabrek’s mind for her. With a tug to her forelocks, she nodded. “We shall divert to this town to see if the dirigible service is up.” With that and a nod to her guards, she finger-flicked a dismissal at them and moved to their horses. Jeonghan withdrew to his palanquin, Cheol-hyung settled in next to it, and Seungkwan climbed up onto the seat of the wagon next to Kefta.

“Nicely played,” Kefta murmured to him as the caravan set off. “Next time, however, hit them in the money like Seungcheol did. Between that and politics they generally get a move on.”

Seungkwan clasped his hands around the edge of the seat and grinned at her. “That transparent, was I?”

“Dearest, the politics played in the Shuttered Palace would boggle your brain,” she said sweetly. “The noble lord Jeonghan is not a sweet innocent in all aspects of life.”

Seungkwan quirked his eyebrows, succumbing to curiosity. “What’s life like there?”

Kefta gave a sigh. “Precarious. There are two sections to the Shuttered Palace, the Sun-court that hosts the male family of the Queen like the noble lord Jeonghan, and the Moon-court, which houses her husbands, concubines and current favourites. Almost two hundred women and men of various ages, all trying to climb a social ladder. Most of them would give their eye teeth to get out of there. Add to that the same number of eunuchs and bond-sworn like myself, and it makes for a strange atmosphere.”

Seungkwan’s cheeks coloured. “I’m sorry, it’s such a rude question, but… did it hurt?”

Kefta smiled sideways at her, eyes narrowed in mirth. “Being cut? No, we have excellent physicians, and it’s a good life overall. I shan’t describe the procedure to you, my sweet, but I was given time to heal.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said primly, fighting down a grimace.

“Ask Seungcheol, I’m sure he can tell you.”

Seungkwan snorted and shook his head, then scooted a little further away to clear space enough for a hand of cards. “Does the noble lord know that his life will be very different?”

Kefta’s brows quirked as he tossed the reins over one leg, twisting a little to see better. “The noble lord has considered such things, but I worry. I’m very fond of him, for all that he’s a little high-strung. I am to be a gift with him, if the offer is accepted, so I shall be there to interpret and see to it that he has little tastes of home. Surely the High King can’t be more uncaring than his mother, whom he saw but once a year. Now... I have a question for you, my dear.”

Seungkwan picked up his hand of cards and nodded.

“You are from Antaria, are you not?” she asked. “But not wholly – I’m guessing that there’s other blood back somewhere on your family tree.”

He looked up at him. “That’s perceptive. What gives it away?”

Kefta motioned one hand to his face. “Your features. Oh, you are not quite beautiful, my dear, but your facial structure is excellent, and your eyes are quite something. If I had to guess, I’d guess Qandeen? Or Limaenese?”

Seungkwan just stared. “I… yes. It’s a bit of a family legend, but my great-great-grandmother was from Qand, from the deep tribes apparently. It was quite scandalous for the time, I’m told.”

“Oh, it would have been,” Kefta murmured. “I hope you are not insulted, that I do not find you a great beauty.”

“No,” Seungkwan said slowly as he put his first card down, bidding and scooping up the next. “Perhaps earlier, but these days I’ve made peace with what I look like. Being a handsome mercenary can have its share of troubles. So, it was the eyes that gave it away?”

Kefta scooped up a card. “Mostly. It’s the first time I’ve seen someone with that kind of golden green outside the desert realms.” She hummed, bid and picked up another. “You have the Altarian pale complexion though, and the combination is exotic. Handsome, certainly.”

Seungkwan laughed at that. “The flattery is accepted, but you’re still going to lose this hand.”

Kefta winked at him. “We’ll see.”

That evening, with the camp set up and the ladies in their little camped-off area as usual, Seungkwan had just picked up the lute when one of the attendants stayed his hand. “The noble lord Jeonghan will cast the oracles tonight,” he said in a heavy accent. “He wishes to ensure our safety through the mountain pass. You must summon your man friend.”

Blinking, Seungkwan stood, arms around the lute. _Man friend? Cheol-hyung would hatch a chicken._ Poking his head out of the enclosure, he beckoned him closer, went back inside and sat on the tiny chair pointed out to him. Cheol-hyung, when he came, was pointed to the seat right next to him.

“Did you know about this oracle casting?” Seungkwan whispered to him. “I thought the Elantans had mostly lost their magic.”

Seungcheol shrugged as he sat down. “Nobles like all sorts of things,” he muttered back. “I once knew one that bathed solely in milk, and was convinced it kept her skin young. Then again she _was_ Limaelese.”

Seungkwan grinned, but quieted down as Volnayan came out first, spreading a beautiful carpet out on the ground with meticulous motions. It looked only a little sturdier than an embroidered tapestry, and was absolutely covered with symbols in the cursive Elantan language. Mainly featured on it was what looked like a map of the heavens, but creatures gathered around it, both fearsome and divine. The duenna looked up at the evening sky, adjusted it minutely and nodded over his shoulder.

Seungkwan blinked when he saw Jeonghan. He was stripped of the normal drapes he wore and in something soft and silken, and shivering with it. Still, he knelt down at one of the poles of the diagram and nodded to his attendants, who reached out to hold hands.

Seungcheol, with a glance to Seungkwan, shrugged, nodded and held hands as well.

Jeonghan started chanting, some kind of invocation from the few words he could tell, droning on and on in a way that was almost like song. Seungkwan, who had expected to feel nothing at all, was surprised when the first surge tingled inside of him, brushing against a part he was not aware of. That something rose and fell in him, surged like a tide, and Selithaen grew hot against his hip. Ignoring the sword uncomfortably, he focused on the feeling, losing all knowledge of herself.

* * *

_He strode the frozen tundra in long steps, knowing that to stop moving was to die, and held the baby close to his chest. He had tucked him in underneath what clothes he had on, which seemed to be some sort of dark cloth wrapped ‘round and ‘round, with sturdy socks and leather boots. The child was slow to warm, but he could feel his little heart beating against the skin over his heart, giving two for every one of his. The ground flowed oddly beneath his feet, giving great creaking cracks as he brushed his way through what little frozen vegetation there was._

_He was partway out of the mountains now at least, but the night in all its terrible glory still stretched over him, as if he moved sideways in time, not quite linearly. Even his thoughts about the oddity of it was dim-fire, as if something messed with his perceptions. Burning white crowded at the edges of his vision, and yet he saw perfectly, right now to the pebbles scattered as he walked around the foothills to the plains below._

_He perfectly saw the mountainside shift, become oily, and heard the howling of the ice-drakes as they started to hunt._

_As they started to hunt him._

* * *

Seungkwan woke up with a start, gasping to get air into his burning lungs. There was a circle of faces surrounding him, but only one that showed any concern: Seungcheol.

His friend helped his sit upright. From the way the light had utterly disappeared, some time had passed. “Are you alright? You passed right out on us.”

“He has too little power in his veins,” Volnayan complained. “Nearly mind-dead. The circle supporting the noble lord Jeonghan pulled too much from him. If we had known he was so weak, we would have put him in the corner and told him to stand guard and stay quiet. As it was, _your_ rough energy nearly disrupted it.”

The insult didn’t bother Seungkwan as much as the taste in his mouth, sharp and tasting of melting ice. “I…” He had _no_ energy to struggle upright, and had to accept Seungcheol’s support to stand. “I don’t feel too well. Did the oracle succeed?”

Seungcheol squeezed his arm. “I’ll guard tonight, you go and catch a nap in the wagon after eating something. And yes, apparently we’re supposed to meet good luck in the pass, but there was a warning about demons of the underground as well.” His voice lowered. “He rambled on and on, about someone locked away and ice covering the ground and… well, a lot of stuff. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Seungkwan, who didn’t have the energy to remember his own name, let alone argue and be curious, went to do as ordered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they meet a strange man that might just be good luck after all.
> 
> _One friend in a lifetime is much; two are many; three are hardly possible._
> 
> _\- Henry Brooks Adams_

Seungkwan breathed a deep sigh of relief as the caravan travelled the last bit up the mountain path to the resort town of Blackmere. It was high up in the Throat, and got its name from the deep icy lake behind it. Supported like a jewel in a cup of stone, it was oddly round, as if someone had sculpted it that way. The lights of the town reflected in the blue-black water along with a frosting of stars. The air was chilly and very clear, and as he wandered along beside the palanquin he heard singing coming distantly, likely local young women practising for the winter festival.

“Bleki’s tits, it’s cold,” Seungcheol said cheerfully next to him.

Seungkwan grinned sideways. “A _nordinner_ should be used to this kind of weather. Isn’t this what they serve up in Erantine?

Seungcheol snorted. “You could spit over our mountains. They’re not like these monsters. Look… there in the water. Do you think there are mermaids? I heard there were mermaids in these waters.”

He looked at the glass-bright surface. There was no wind, so not a ripple showed to distort the sky’s reflection. “I don’t know,” he muttered softly. “If there are any they’re hiding. Anyway, I’ve never heard of lake mermaids before.”

Seungcheol nudged him in the side, hard, but slung an arm over his shoulders as they entered the large inn. Upon an invitation to the bar, Seungkwan shook his head and made for the washroom instead, ducking past the noble lord’s entourage to slip in first.

Minutes later, seeing Kefta come in to inspect the facilities, he nearly screamed. The inn had segregated baths – Ollesh wasn’t Limael or Honsin after all. Yanking his towel up, he attempted to cover himself.

“Don’t worry,” she said, waving a hand. “It’s nothing that I’ve not seen before.”

He shook his head and hopped into one of the scrubbing corners, angling to fit behind the strange partition. The inn’s facilities were in better repair than most, and still showed all the wonders of the previous ages: metal that was not metal, fancifully moulded into a curving screen for privacy, lovely tiles on the floor in a glassy shade between green and blue, and above all a capacity for hot water that somehow never ran out.

Reaching up to wash his hair, he grumbled. He had lost a lot of his Altarian prudishness over the last ten years, especially once he joined Cheol-hyung’s group, but the thought of a woman swanning around as he bathed gave him the heebie-jeebies, never mind what she’s seen before or not. He peeked out, only to find Kefta looking at the large sauna on the other side of the room, and started scrubbing at his hair. He’d have to be quick, time enough to renew the dye later in privacy.

He scrubbed at his hair and body until all the travel dirt came off in brown slush. It was only when he was rosy on all the bits not tanned by adventuring that he wrapped a towel around himself and meandered to one of the soaking baths. Barely two minutes of bliss followed, interrupted by a great twitter of attendants streaming in. Jeonghan’s entourage took over, spreading out around their lord. He watched covertly as they stripped off without any shame, and felt his eyes nearly bug out when he finally saw Jeonghan’s face for the first time.

_Oh, my gods._

The guy looked scarcely older than himself. He was quite startlingly beautiful and extremely slim, but his face still had the roundness of childhood. Excellent skin and hair, Seungkwan was forced to admit, as they started washing black hair down to his knees to get rid of the oil keeping it clean during travelling.

He continued to stare, frankly curious at the sight he would never see otherwise. The Elantans moved as a group, combing and helping to wash each other, applying all sorts of poultices and spices and fragrant oils and… yes, by the gods, they were even depilating with an odd tool he had never seen before. Even ancient Volnayan, who had certainly been through a life and a half from what he could see, spread his legs with no concern.

He stared so much in fact, that he started when one of them called to him.

“The noble lord Jeonghan asks that you present yourself.”

_Oh hell, not here too._

Still, thinking about the money he was saving for later in life, and the generous donation this trip would make to that fund, Seungkwan got out and wrapped the towel around himself again, making his way over.

They cleared a spot for him and he sat down nervously, unused to being surrounded by so much naked flesh, not to mention Kefta looming in the background.

Jeonghan looked at him, batted heavy eyelashes once, and spoke to Volnayan, who translated with his usual acerbic bite. “The noble lord Jeonghan wishes to know whether you would like to join in, as thanks for your services so far, since your partner is not here to take care of you.” Implied in the tone, _heavily_ implied, was the fact that Seungkwan should be honoured.

“I…” Seungkwan floundered. “Excuse me, I have no idea precisely what you are doing. Your rituals are strange to me.”

“We will show you,” one of the secondary levels of attendants said, and hooked a finger into Seungkwan’s knotted towel. “Your condition is dreadful.” With one swoop he yanked it off.

Seungkwan found himself the recipient of several stares and one outraged tongue-click from Volnayan. “Pitiful,” he sneered. “Short, grubby nails, your skin has no glow, and the less said about your hair the better.” he leant in. “Your teeth are passable,” he finally muttered grudgingly.

_That’s it. That’s_ it. _I’m going to kill them all._

“Not all of us have six attendants around to treat us like a debutante about to come out at the ball of the season,” Seungkwan gritted out, frowning. “I realise the concept is foreign to you, but though I work for a living, that doesn’t mean you can just talk to me like this all the time. I’m not your plaything, just because I’m a mercenary.” That last came out with enough venom to sizzle, as snooty as he had ever heard his mother being.

Silence descended. He tightened his jaw and stared them down.

A giggle broke the silence, then a chorus of laughter, and the old bat unbent enough to smile at him. “That’s better. We had begun to think that you don’t have teeth at all. Your partner’s been holding his own, but you’ve been as quiet as a little mouse! Come, we’ll help you.”

Seungkwan sat there, too stunned to say anything back. They used the pause well, and soon had him stretched out on one of the heated massage slabs whilst they rubbed something fragrant into his skin and buffed his nails. “You mean,” he finally managed. “You mean you’ve been bitchy all this time because you wanted me to speak up?”

“The noble lord Jeonghan does not like mice,” Kefta said. “Besides, we are young in an old world – if we do not learn how to be strong in it, time will wash over us like a wave of sand and bury us.”

“I thought Elantan men were… well. You know. Quiet and oppressed.”

Volnayan cackled. “Heavens no, lad. The Kalifa thinks she runs the country, but most of the decisions are made in the Shuttered Palace, and whispered into her ear. We might be cloistered, but we are not without power in certain areas.”

“I told you,” Kefta got in from the side, where she stood watching the door whilst they worked. “He’s got some fire. It’s just buried beneath politeness as obstinate as a mule. He didn’t even snap when I told him to his face he’s not pretty.”

Seungkwan repressed the desire to get up and punch her, but groaned as the guy massaging his back leant on it and something popped with a crack of tension.

“It is true,” came from the one source he had not heard speak common before: Jeonghan. “He is not pretty, not as we measure things, but… handsome? Like my great-aunt, a face that one grows into. Certainly capable of beauty in the right light.”

Giving up the ghost at the frank comments that came, from his sword-callouses to apparently very acceptable feet, Seungkwan groaned and rested his head back down on the slab. That night, feeling better than he had in some time, he snuggled under his covers and ignored Seungcheol’s raucous singing as he came back from whatever assignation he had. The Elantans had not totally made up for earlier rudeness – all those nights of kneeling and playing! – but he felt cautiously good about them, and closed his eyes feeling quite contented with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. Antaria lies entirely north of the equator in the temperate zone. It is a country with Victorian sensibilities, and practises quite a bit of gender role separation. The country is mainly mountainous along the center, called the Sashen Range or more informally the Spine. One of the highest peaks on Pytheria, Mount Heiron, is in this country. Magic is present, but highly segregated along gender lines. Women have the hearth-crafts and healing, and men have access to the elemental magics and shaping magics. Once upon a time, the country had been feared for the quality of its mages, but these days the magic is rather worklike and not the splendour of earlier. The country is run by the Council of Ten, a sort of parliament that is made up of the heads of the ten highest noble seats in the country. There is a definitely class difference as well, but magic prevents the extremes of poverty. 
>   2. The second desert country on the western continent, Elanta has a highly rigid society. Men are kept from sight, and the Kalifa is the absolute ruler. Their language sounds very melodic, and is difficult to master. It is said that once upon a time a colony of sirens lived close by the shore, but that they were kidnapped and made to serve as concubines to the Prince, but that they took over and formed the current society. They have treaties with the djinni in the deep desert that defines boundaries clearly: the Elantans do not go to the deep desert, except on specially sanctioned trips, and the djinni help them with their mercantile fleets. 
>   3. One of the only open kingdoms on the western continent, Ollesh is a traditional 'adventuring' kingdom. It is ruled ostensibly by a king, but the real power is the guilds. There is no gender segregation in the country, and the racial identity is very weak indeed. The biggest export of the country is the all-powerful Mercenaries' Guild, whose members are famed for hiring out to every conflict on Pytheria. Missions vary from simple guard duties to blockages and all-out war, and it pays well for them. 
>   4. For those curious, a rough map can be found [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1c3atz_P8ScCfL9K0I6YokhYCpGCD1QKn/view?usp=sharing). 
> 



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * There's a fairly drastic happening in here. Just remember, this is from Seungkwan's POV, nothing is clear at the moment. Don't feel sad or anything. 
> 


The day dawned late and clear, already shading towards winter, and the caravan was slow to get going. For once it felt more like a procession than anything else, with even the women predisposed to smile tolerably. From where he sat on the wagon with Kefta, Seungkwan felt vastly in love with the world. Cresting the pass through the Throat took the better part of the morning; the path was fine enough, but even though the palanquin bearers apparently had inhuman stamina and the horses came from Tartesse, the carts and oxen took their time.

Halfway after the noon meal, spent only a little past the apex of the Throat with a wonderful view in front of them, Seungkwan thoughtfully watched the crevasses that stretched out far and wide, ringed about with tattered warning flags and ropes. The innkeeper had just this morning warned them of the descent down into the new country of Raikin, said that it had not been maintained since the Cold King took over, and he well believed him. Given the number of travellers that surely met their death trying to flee from the war there, it was a wonder the bottom didn’t look lined with corpses.

“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol called from the palanquin. “Come over here a second.”

Thoughtfully fastening his sword-belt a little tighter, he wandered over to his partner for a quiet conversation.

“I _kenned_ the area a little earlier,” Seungcheol said quietly. “The mountains are feeling a little restless. I want you here at the palanquin with me, I’m going to walk wise. Keep me pointed the correct way.”

Seungkwan swallowed and nodded. It was one of Seungcheol’s powers that he liked the least. As a _nordinner_ with a connection to the earth on top of his battle prowess, his partner could use an area around him as a sort of sensor net, feeling everything above a certain weight move on or in it. There were legends from Erantine about _nordinner_ that could do it and still remain fully functioning, but his partner wasn’t one of them – he resembled the shuffling dead more than anything else.

With Jabrek briefed, the caravan set off again. The day didn’t warm at all, and two hours later an icy stillness had fallen, presaging an early winter blizzard. Seungcheol walked like a zombie, Jabrek looked a little worried, and Volnayan returned to his normal waspish self as he wrapped layer upon layer around Jeonghan. Seungkwan’s hand remained on his pommel, and he tried not to start at every noise in the strange hyperaware state he was in.

The warning came just before late afternoon, almost as they were to the town on the other side of the Throat, when Cheol-hyung started back to normal and yelled out a warning. “Move!” he thundered, unclasping his axe. “Jabrek, get the train moving!”

The caravan leader started and looked around, but something on Seungcheol’s face must have stopped her questions. Instead she whistled a sharp, piercing two tones and the palanquin bearers settled the poles more tightly on their shoulders and began to run. Seungkwan spared a bare moment in admiration of their training, standing aside to let the wagons pass her, as he drew Selithaen.

Up towards the closest peak, cruel Velnos, a howl started. He frowned as he puzzled at the sound. It wasn’t a wolf or some kind of kindred animal – now that he listened, he couldn’t hear a single animal beyond the noise of the oxen bleating as the handlers beat them to go faster. Instead, it sounded almost human… “Cheol- _hyung_ ,” he asked as he settled beside his partner. “What is that?”

“I can’t tell,” Seungcheol said. “Large, like a human, but no animal that I can tell. I would think bandits, but they don’t move like humans. Shit, they’re going to be upon us…”

The howl threaded closer, bellowed at them, and shrieks started as corpses climbed up the sheer edges of the crevasse. No human should have been able to do it, but the undead managed somehow, some still dressed in the clothes they had on when they died. To a one they had no eyes, and from the bit that Seungkwan saw as the closest one attacked, there were no brains rotting in their skulls either. Selithaen blocked the large club it swung at him, sheared straight through, and he lost himself to the battle.

He darted to the side to give Seungcheol enough room to swing his axe if needed, battled his way through limbs and gore to a spot where they were overwhelming the poor caravan guards. He hacked and chopped his way through, ignoring the liquids that spattered on him, and only became aware of Jabrek when she dismounted and elbowed him out of reach of a jagged piece of shale about to impact in his back.

“I sent the palanquin forward to the town and brought the guards back!” she yelled as she thundered past him to Seungcheol. “Just a little, and they’ll be in position!”

Right on cue arrows started whistling from the high rocks as the caravan pressed itself against the wall, allowing the guards to stand in front of them with short horn bows. The women were phenomenal shots from what Seungkwan could see, pushing the corpses back into the abyss, but they kept coming in an inexorable wave, pushing them closer and closer.

“I see her!” Seungcheol shouted moments later. “I see the witch! Seungkwan, hold them together, I’m going to head this off at the pass!”

Seungkwan felt the world spin around her, flicker into a new form, and abruptly a heaviness he had never felt before welled up in him, crackling like ice along his veins as omen settled into his bones. “No… no! Cheol- _hyung_ , come back here! Don’t!”

He fought forward, tried to get an open space to get to his partner. Selithaen flamed in his hand, cut through the air with the crackling scent of ozone. The battle roared and shifted around him, and the corpses tried to pile him under as he pushed as far forward as he could.

When he had a clear moment again, he saw Seungcheol locked in battle with a woman that appeared further up the pass – inhumanly pretty but patchwork, almost as if she was wearing others’ skins to give her that beauty. The air around them sizzled as the witch’s magic coiled around his partner’s battle-ken. Even from here he could see that his friend was being pushed back.

_He’s going to die,_ Seungkwan recognised queasily. _He’s going to die and there’s nothing I can do about it, not with the caravan around me…_

He spared a quick look. It was hopeless. Jabrek’s oiled hair dipped into a well of her blood as the dead ate at her, and though the caravan was faring better, hurrying past his at a thin, constant stream, they wouldn’t last long either.

Deep inside fear and anger boiled, igniting through him in summer-heat as he surged forward, kicking as many corpses away and off the precipice as he could, starting forward to his partner. He had to get Seungcheol’s back, he had to…

The spot where Seungcheol fought ignited in green fire, set there by the witch. He heard his friend’s screams as he started burning, knew that he would never get there in time...

Everything blanked away in front of him in a huge, roiling surge of blood.

* * *

Sometime later he woke up, lying on the ground to the sound of hearty male cursing. There were hands on him, and it felt as if the fingers were poking inside him, twitching things into their rightful place. It hurt tremendously, scraping and churning inside him.

He howled with pain and tried to surge up straight.

“Bloody hell, lie still!” the man shouted down at him in a strange accent. “If you disrupt my healing now, you might as well give up and die in truth!”

“The caravan,” he croaked, feeling around for Selithaen’s hilt, nearly fainting with relief when he felt it almost right beneath his right hand. “What happened to the caravan?”

The man snorted. “Dead or gone,” he stated baldly. “I barely arrived in time to chase the last of the undead away from you. Killing their mistress set them to ravening. You’re lucky you’re still alive, my friend. I’ve never seen anyone fight like that.”

Seungkwan found the courage to screw his eyes open. They fought him, but eventually parted, still gummy-sticky from dried blood tacking up. The man healing him looked young, his age, and wore the rich robes of a court wizard from somewhere. It looked like a wizard robe in any case, and he wasn’t about to ask when he could still feel his lungs bubbling blood.

The healing felt like it took forever, and being turned around to cough out blood and phlegm and get sick was embarrassing, though hardly the worst in his life. Afterwards he lay over the man’s arm, with no energy whatsoever, and couldn’t even argue when he lifted and draped Seungkwan over a huge horse’s forequarters.

“Who are you?” he managed to ask roughly.

The man mounted behind him, and managed some arcane riding feat involving holding him, the reins and the haft of some kind of rapier as well. “Joshua Hong, at your service. Come on, let’s get you to the town before we alert them about the fight here.”

Seungkwan tried to sit up straight, but his bones were water. “Wait… Cheol- _hyung_ ’s here somewhere. Please. He’s my … was my partner. Do you see an axe around? Anywhere?”

Joshua sighed, paused and looked. “No. Now, let’s go.”

The journey down the pass to the town was sheer hell. Thankfully Seungkwan passed out before too long, and was not aware of anything until they reached the town. Jeonghan’s palanquin stood outside the biggest inn, and Kefta practically trampled people to get to him and lift him down. “Sir,” she said to Seungkwan’s rescuer. “It is the Sun’s own grace that you found him. Please, come with us.”

“I’d love to hear some answers,” Joshua muttered, following behind. “Let me give you a hand.”

They carried Seungkwan into some kind of chamber and laid him on the couch. He felt ruefully amazed to see all the attendants and lords out from behind their screens – they sat openly with veils on, though most were crying softly, staining the silken material in long, droopy streaks.

“What happened?” Volnayan demanded. “The last we knew the Lady Jabrek sent us on to move fast, and took the guards to go and support the caravan?”

Seungkwan struggled straight with help. “Jabrek is dead, I think,” he said as calmly as he could. “Cheol- _hyung_ … the witch burnt Cheol- _hyung_ alive, and the undead overwhelmed our position. They just kept coming, the old dead and new dead alike.”

Joshua interrupted. “When I got there the witch was gone, but the area was rank with the scent of necromancy. This man was fighting in a circle of undead four thick, like a wild thing. I have not seen such a thing before, but he was so near death it was a miracle I could call him back to life.”

“Seungkwan,” he managed to say. “I’m Seungkwan. Thank you for the healing, sir.”

“Jabrek is dead?” Jeonghan asked, hands clasped so tightly on his lap he was white-knuckled.

“Yes. I fought as hard as I could, but I could not save her, sorry. She fell trying to protect the caravan. She was very… very brave.” Seungkwan paused. “Do you have any enemies? This smacked too much of an ambush for my taste. We would have been totally overrun if not for Cheol- _hyung_ ’s warning.”

Jeonghan looked at Joshua, then gave a fine shrug. “No one of import. We must push on, of course. We are through the pass. Kefta will… will act as our escort with you. You must recover your health quickly.”

Seungkwan stared at him, fighting for the energy to hold his head up. Whatever the man had done to heal him he had scarcely been so tired in his life before and a bed sounded like the best thing ever. He allowed Kefta to pull him up and escort him to a room. His body felt a vague softness and responded by shutting down, and he passed out before he felt her taking his shoes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * So all I can do is reiterate the top note's warning. Things are happening and Seungkwan didn't see everything; don't be sad OR mad. 
>   * Qand: The country has deserts and mountains, and its magics are strange. It has no cities. Instead, the large desert is criss-crossed by fierce nomad tribes that specialise in enchantment and rituals. It is said that the Sword of Heaven was forged in this country, and the heat of its forging turned the country into a desert. The nomads still cleave to the old ways, and it is not unknown for the occasional partial transformation to show up at puberty. The nomads have a reputation for violence, however, and no one crosses their borders without retaliation. 
>   * Tartesse: A country that has a rather large vendetta against Ciesse. It is rich in metals and have excellent metalworkers, only rivalled (and perhaps surpassed) by the Qandeen. They are the single largest source of money for the Mercenaries' Guild these days, as to-and-fro skirmishes between the two countries have apparently been going on since the dawn of time. 
>   * Ireth: Ireth the White, a country that is not a country. It's a stretch of desert that, on paper, belongs to four different countries, but no one cares enough to go there, as there is little good to the place apparently. All manner of magical and normal monsters live there.
> 



	5. Chapter 5

He awoke what felt like days later, though from the angle of the light it was just sunset. There had been no dreams, and for a moment he was confused until he tried to sit up. His breath hissed out at the sudden pain, but that faded into nothingness as his memories returned and his eyes clouded with tears.

_Cheol-hyung._

His dearest friend and companion, who had gotten him through some trying times in his early career as a mercenary, was gone. It felt like a hole in his life threatening to drag him down into a bottomless abyss. He had always been the strong, valorous one, their contract negotiator, the life of their small party.

_No Cheol-hyung..._

Seungkwan’s mind gibbered at the thought and he slumped back, turning on his side as the sobs racked him. The last of the light went as he wept for his friend’s loss, and he didn't acknowledge the attendant that came to look in on him at sunset, preferring instead to grieve.

The next morning seemed greyer still, and colder, and he stiffly dressed in his one clean outfit still remaining. Strapping Selithaen to his hip, he made his way back to the small parlour, pointed there by a maid and lured by the twittering voices of the Elantans.

For a moment, when he entered the room, he despised the lot of them. They were seated according to rank, with the noble lord Jeonghan safely ensconced in the warmest place of the room, and Kefta bustled around doing... well, he wasn't quite sure and in his fatigue he didn't want to waste energy finding out. About the only strange sight was the vast pile of things in the middle of the small parlour, and the brightly dressed man sitting almost at the door.

Today, being no longer mostly dead and having some wits about him, he assessed the man's clothes with as professional eye as he could muster. Finely tailored, but practical, with no concession to the bright silks the others went about in. The stranger was of average height for a man, slightly taller than himself, but the style of his face and robes suggested an origin somewhere in Ciesse.

Seungkwan said nothing as they fell silent at his entry, merely crossed to the pile of things in the middle of the room. From the way everything lay jumbled together, some of it still in blood-splashed bags, no one had any idea what to do with them. He searched stoically until he found Cheol-hyung’s packs, then his, and liberated the two from the pile to go through them.

“Are we continuing?” His voice felt dull and dead. “The contract stated until Cascade, I believe, though you certainly have the right to break it off and go back home now.”

There was a twitter of speech from the lord responsible for the outing, and Volnayan hastened to explain. Across the room, the mage made no move except a curious tick of an eyebrow.

“The noble lord Jeonghan decrees that we must continue, as his husband-to-be is likely waiting for his arrival.”

Seungkwan wanted to snort. _Fat chance if the man even knows he exists_. Aloud, fighting against the nothingness inside him, he spoke. “There will have to be significant changes to the party. We no longer have most of your group to support us. If we have a small party and we move fast, we might make it.”

A whispered conversation with Jeonghan saw Volnayan nod. “What is your suggestion?”

“If speed is to be our goal, then no more than two, maybe three people. The lord, Kefta, and perhaps yourself, _Shaharim_ , no one else. We can use the wagon and pretend we are a refugee family.”

That put the fox amongst the hens. For all they pretended not to understand Ollesh’s Steel Tongue, the attendants shed that lie to burst out in the most raucous of arguments, until it felt as if the headache from the previous night's tears surged in his blood like thunder. He left them to it, crossing instead to the strange man’s side.

“Sir," he said as he looked up at him. “You have the advantage of me, and my thanks. I faintly recall your name being mentioned yesterday, but I can’t recall it now.”

There was something of a noble bearing to the man as he stood, and the little half-bow over his waist was definitely Ciessese as he hauled a chair closer for Seungkwan. Oddly, as tired as Seungkwan was, it took more not to fall back in the court-bow customs of his early years, which would have looked ridiculous with leather pants and no fan in any case.

“Ser Jisoo Hong, though my use-name is Joshua,” the man said as he saw him seated. “I’m one of the Limani, the Red Mages of the Star Court. You owe me no thanks, I was happy to assist.”

Seungkwan considered him thoughtfully. The Limani were the war mages of Ciesse, and one of the principal forces that kept the country from being overrun by the Iron Knights of Tartesse. The discovery that iron was a wonderful conductor of lightning spells was the direct reason for the centuries-long standoff, but from what he knew they were scarce and generally didn't leave the Star Court except for mandated rounds on the border.

“A Limani, here?” he questioned thoughtfully, glad of the distraction.

Joshua lifted one shoulder. “This business in the South draws attention from the Star Court. I was sent as investigator and ambassador. Having been on the border, it was fairly easy to slip down the mountains and skirt the Qandeen desert, and come up through Ollesh. None of the others wanted the journey and since they outranked me...”

“Oh.” Seungkwan’s hands knotted on his lap, and he considered. “Well. It is quite a long way, and I don’t see his majesty giving the task to one of the sky-riders.”

“Indeed," Joshua said with a measure of amusement. “I’m much more expendable.”

“And unlucky, to come upon such a scene.”

Though Seungkwan got the idea Joshua wanted to say something in response to that, Kefta came to interrupt with a small mug of something that smelled both astringent and delicious, which turned out to be some sort of herbal tea. “The lords have decided,” she informed him. “We three will stay here, whilst the rest of the guards will retrieve what corpses they may, provide funeral rites and book passage back to Elanta for the others. With great luck they might even encounter an Elantan ship.”

Seungkwan lifted his head to look at the noble lord Jeonghan, Thirteenth Son of the Kalifa and Jewel of Elanta. He privately wondered exactly how far from shore the Elantan warships were. They wouldn't be too obvious in Raikin waters, given the new king’s penchant for leaving coastal defence to his reaving buddies from what Seungkwan heard, but he had no doubt they were out there somewhere. All they needed to do, really, was get on the barges that started some miles south on the river that flowed past here, and it would take them straight to a bay if he remembered correctly.

“The lord’s wisdom is without parallel,” he found it in himself to say. “I would not wish to overstrain his attendants, especially in your time of grief.”

His voice broke, reminded of his own grief, but he scrabbled his control back together. “If, perhaps, they can go through what was recovered and put together a small wardrobe for the noble lord, keeping to what we can fit on your wagon with supplies, that would be best.”

“It would be better if you had additional protection,” came Joshua’ voice from his side. “Not that I doubt your sword, sirs and madam, but the folk of this country are wild, and I would be remiss if I didn't offer my protection to your small party. We are going the same way, after all.”

That elicited another twitter from the attendants, one that sounded vaguely approving.

As badly as Seungkwan felt, he knew the brunt of the grief hadn't hit him yet, and it would only in the days to come. He didn't really care for a Limani above Cheol-hyung’s _nordinner_ _kenning_ , but magic would help tremendously.

Volnayan made up everyone’s minds for them by giving a small nod to Kefta before looking at Seungkwan. "It will take some time."

He took a deep breath. “We will take another day and go through what has been recovered. Kefta, you’ll be our purser, you’re large enough that you might give brigands a moment to consider. Ser Hong...”

“Joshua,” the Limani interrupted.

“Joshua," Seungkwan repeated. “This village is not exactly a wellspring of good horseflesh, but I've heard that all Ciessese are born with the eye for good livestock. Would you go with Kefta, please, and see what this town can offer? Ideally I’d like at least one horse besides yours, and some stronger oxen for the cart.”

Both nodded and set off, which left him with the party. He stared at them for a moment before sighing. “This will be tough,” he warned. “We won't be able to keep you in the style you are accustomed to, even with Kefta along. It’s going to be a great deal more arduous than your litter.”

Jeonghan stared at him, blue-green unblinking above his veil, before he finally spoke in his cultured, pure voice. “I did not come this far to fail. We will continue on. Our contract stands.”

For a moment Seungkwan was viscerally reminded of himself as a young teenager, running away from House Nurevin. Both thoughts made him tired, and he had little energy as it is, so he merely nodded.

“Alright. Let’s start going through the packs and strip what will go with from what has to stay. Small valuables, things that can roll up tightly...”

* * *

They spent the morning and some part of lunch in that occupation. Seungkwan had thought they would have a great deal more airs than they did, but to the last one the attendants stripped what jewellery they had on them, as well as the pieces that could be taken from what corpses had been recovered, and an impressive little pile grew.

The first hour after lunch was spent in funerals and rites in a dell not too far from the local town pastures. He stood at the back as they burnt all the corpses amidst what fragrant woods and oils they could, and Kefta somberly muttered to him that it was the best they could expect, though they’d have been buried well and in ornate finery back home for protecting the lord Jeonghan to their death.

Seungkwan studiously didn't think about Cheol- _hyung_ , or about the fact that his corpse likely would never be found.

Instead, pretending that the rancid smoke had stung his eyes, he escorted them back to the inn, only to pause at the large wagon that stood pulled into its yard. It seemed something the wandering clans of far-off Lourne would use, being more a small house on wheels than an actual wagon. The outside looked a little foxed, covered in a peeling faint blue paint, but the bones were sturdy still, and he wandered to peek inside.

“The owner traded us for the wagon Kefta came here in, as well as his oxen, saying they were more suited to him than this - do you know, I think it's a clan-home?” Joshua asked through one of the windows as he stepped in. “I thought it might be more suitable to our purpose than a wagon.”

“Hmm,” Seungkwan agreed, and considered the small home. More storage space than he would have thought, with clear sleeping space towards the back and a small kitchen-slash-lounge towards the front. The best was that all the areas could be curtained off at will, and it was definitely large enough for the five of them. It smelled very faintly of good wood and clean linen.

“What do you think, Seungkwan?” he heard from Joshua.

He slowly straightened, and was able to do so without touching the roof in the middle stretch. It even seemed, perish the thought, high enough for Kefta to do so. “Good idea. I take it the lords will be here if they wish, Kefta will drive, and the two of us will be on the horses?”

Joshua nodded as Seungkwan turned to leave again. “I was able to find one good horse, not Caephalas’ equal of course, but strong and not a plodder. I apologise for the presumption, but I had to get you a normal saddle, as they had no war-saddles here...”

Seungkwan felt the oddest burble of amusement bubble up. “I don't need a war-saddle. I’ll cope. I’ll bring the lords out and see what they think. Good job, Joshua, both yourself and Kefta.”

Joshua shot him a half-salute. “As you say, company leader.”

Seungkwan made an effort to smile at him, though the words were ash in her mind. _Cheol-hyung. Goddamn you, you nordinner bastard, how could you die on me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Does anyone else watch The Princess Bride? It's applicable here, sort of. 
> 



	6. Chapter 6

They left early on the second day, after a frenzied day’s rush on behalf of the attendants that they hadn’t needed to be done. Still, each man had his opinion, and they had to draw lots as to which of the female staff would represent them now, and it turned into a headache of monumental scope that Seungkwan happily turned over to Kefta whilst he pored over maps with Joshua.

The road down and across the plain to the closest foot-spur of the Isendris mountain seemed to be on the up-and-up, and would only take a month if the weather was kind and they did not come across more interruptions. Being a trade-road, they could follow the route down the Mirne river and scoot through the valley created by the gap between the Isendris and Ostara ranges. From there, once they passed the route-markers at Val Menara, it would take but a day to climb up the foothills to Subodhi, which was hopefully still in possession of a working dirigible system.

Seungkwan looked over the clan-house. Volnayan had argued powerfully for a new coat of paint at least, but he had put his foot down. Bandits would fall on a newly-painted wagon as a sign of riches, and there were enough actual riches around that he didn't want to risk it. Jeonghan and Volnayan, dressed sensibly if still with their veils, were inside the wagon, and Kefta looked like a bandit with the eye-patch and rough-spun clothes they had insisted she wear.

Joshua, dressed a little down, looked like nothing so much as a rich man pretending to be poor. His stallion, which had bit the ostler at the inn at least twice, had danced away from being a little mud-coated, not that Seungkwan could blame the poor beast.

Seungkwan swung up on the seventeen-hander that the men had brought him, thankful for a lift up, and signalled his little troupe with a bit-off whistle. The attendants wailed, the others looked impassive. The sounds followed them out of the town and down onto the trade road, distorted by increasing distance into sounds that sounded eerily like the dead at the ambush, and he shivered, chivvying the party on a little faster.

Midmorning found them well-embarked and Seungkwan halfway through his recitation of old lessons. It had been a measure of survival in his youth, to name all the extant countries, their capital seats and the family lines of their rulers, peers and important personages. That day it saved him from having to feel, even though he was likely far out of date.

Behind him Joshua didn't even pretend to be riding alertly, merely kept his stallion at the wagon’s side as he performed little magic tricks for the nobles’ amusements. His horse seemed to have given up on irritation and now only slouched along.

Their entertainments continued for the rest of the day without much complaint, and just the act of making it to the first evening let Seungkwan’s shoulders rest a little bit. They pulled off the path and everyone set to making camp in a protected spinnet of trees. Amazingly enough, Volnayan could cook like nobody’s business, and dinner was some sort of kebab thing drizzled in a sauce made of soured milk.

Seungkwan was, in fact, feeling so good after dinner that he didn't see the ambush coming. This time it was in the form of Kefta ambling over, but it was welcome nonetheless, and he wasn't too ungracious about making space for her.

“I thought we could talk about Seungcheol,” she ventured. “I had only known him for a short amount of time, but I miss him dearly.”

Seungcheol’s name still felt like a kick in his gut, souring the evening and the pain of it made Seungkwan glance away.

Kefta pressed on. “I understand that you two would have been partners for almost eight years this year. He didn’t seem the type of man to be landed somewhere in paradise with forty virgins, but I hope he is happy where he is, and warm, and as friendly as always.”

“Cheol- _hyung_ ,” Seungkwan barely managed to get out,” would have been right at home in a paradise with forty virgins. He wasn’t... He wasn't shy about something like that, and he was the best partner I could have wanted.” His mouth snapped shut on the recriminations he wanted to levy.

Kefta slipped her fingers together and stared at the tiny little fire they had, and that only because Volnayan had refused to cook with magic. “True that, he even saw fit to distribute his largesse in my direction. Hadn't you two ever...?”

Seungkwan was so surprised at the thought of himself getting it on with his old friend that he couldn't speak for moments. Quietly then, when the shock faded, “No. We weren't ever like that. Oh, he helped me and pointed me towards the right people to get a little experience with, but he was never more than a big brother. It doesn't make me miss him less though, or be less angry, or... or...”

Kefta reached out a hand to pat Seungkwan gently on the shoulder as his breath started hitching and spoke over the tiny gasped sounds as if she knew he didn't want the others to hear. “He propositioned me that first night out, when you had the first watch. Dynamite in the sack, as I believe they say over here. Well worthy of our paradise, let me tell you.”

Seungkwan fought to get himself back under control. “I thought... I thought that when women got operated on, they lose the ability for, um, pleasure?”

“Blessed heavens no,” Kefta said cheerily. “What you lose is the ability to engender children. They don't cut everything out in Elanta, just the organs inside. The necessary bits are still more than intact, thank all the Gods.”

Seungkwan coughed on his mug of tea at that last and had to turn his head away to wipe his tears away. “I didn't know that,” he admitted quietly. “I was so angry at your lord for snubbing me that first night that I just walked.”

His eyes lifted as, across the fire, Volnayan and Joshua packed away leftovers for the next morning, and Jeonghan sat wrapped in a thick blanket likely enhanced by a warming spell. “He's going to have it difficult where we’re going. It’s not exactly the Sun and Moon courts down there. Honestly, if this Ordenial Farstrider is anything like normal conquering kings, he’s going to spend more time trying to whip mountain goats into shape than have a lot of people around him.”

“He knows it,” Kefta said quietly. “But it was a chance to get out of the courts, and into a position where there aren't a hundred men jockeying for power for themselves and their offspring. Besides, he’d be the consort of a King. If they don't get along, he might enjoy having him absent all the time.”

Not for the first time, Seungkwan looked at Jeonghan and wondered whether his slim shoulders would be strong enough. “That’s if he does pick your lord to marry him, right?”

“We thought carefully about these things. There isn't a woman of good breeding and childbearing age out of Limael at the moment, and no one expects anyone from Qand. He’d be mad if he tries to conquer them in any case.”

“And the other countries?”

Kefta stroked his chin. “The likely contenders are Elaine of Tartesse, the current king’s niece by his sister Tobis and her husband, and Yseult of Peros, she's a bit old but newly a window and very beautiful, we’re told. From Antaria, it’ll likely be Lord Grantham...”

“It’ll be Yevonne na-Seres,” Seungkwan said thoughtlessly. “Or Jessica Chalmers, Lady Brenneth.” Seconds later he wanted to kick himself when Kefta blinked and stared at him. “Or... er, so I think, they wouldn't waste a drop more Blood than they wish to.”

Kefta shrugged. “We don't know too much of the Antarians in any case, most of our spies don't have hair light enough to masquerade as any of the upper classes. It’s ridiculously inconvenient, you can’t mimic it with bleach.”

Striving not to think of his lost hair, Seungkwan stared moodily at the fire instead. “It’s said that it's the magic in their blood that bleaches them clean. The blonder you are, the more desirable. I’ve known plenty of people to try and bleach themselves lighter but you’re right, it never really works. What about the Western continent’s kingdoms or that island no one is allowed to land on? Think anything will come from there?”

Kefta grinned at him. “No one in time for the true plays to begin at least, if they even manage to get here in time at all. I’d expect someone from the Honsin court, but Lourne likely couldn't be bothered given that they're a prime reaving target, and no one above white Ireth at all. As charming as Cheol-hyung was, I don't think there’s another of him close to here.”

“There’ll never be another like him,” Seungkwan muttered as she drained the last of her mug. “And I really would rather not talk about him anymore, if that’s ok.”

He felt another touch light as snow on his shoulder, but Kefta didn't prod, merely stood. “Wake us up when it's our time for lookout.”

Seungkwan nodded, watched everyone make their way into the little clan-house and moved to bank the fire in the hole dug out for it earlier.

Three days now, without Seungcheol, and it still feels unreal.

_One day... Might as well try for a second._

* * *

For two weeks the party carried on quietly, sticking to what country roads there were so as not to present too big a target on the big trade route. The mountains were a purple smudge before and behind them, and it felt as if they crawled on as slow as ants.

Seungkwan, stuck in his grief over Seungcheol, did not have energy to do much but lead onwards, leaving Joshua and Kefta to jolly the nobles along. Things went fine, and they left him alone at the head of the party. Hour by hour he rode with tears drying on his cheeks, his attention span not worth a wart on a guard's bottom. Nothing really made a big impression on him, not old Volnayan being courted into smiling by Joshua, not the way Jeonghan seemed to keep his own judgement, not even the way Kefta provided him with the herbal tea he loved so much every night.

Seungkwan went to sleep tired, and woke up tired, and functioned as best he could. Even the half-formed dreams he sometimes had stayed away from him, a momentary interlude from the oddly inchoate mess that always flowed in his head.

An almighty bang practically next to his ear on the fourth day shook him rudely out of that strange existence; before he was entirely awake, he had Selithaen in his hand, clad only in the old pants he routinely slept in. Stumbling towards the exit of the clan-house, he practically fell down the steps and onto his own sword before he registered the circle of surprised faces.

Volnayan was pressed against the side of the clan-home, Kefta was struggling to get a panicking set of horses calm, and the others…

Seungkwan blinked, not quite sure what his eyes were telling him. Joshua and Jeonghan were next to the cooking area, with Joshua' robe smouldering and what looked like a lump of melted metal between Jeonghan's feet.

His mind stuttered, partly over the truly impractical slippers Jeonghan wore, teal silk with hummingbirds embroidered in silver, but also over the way he was laughing in delight, clapping his hands. They were still, very oddly, glowing faintly, and there was an oddly iron tang in the air.

“What,” he managed, too overwhelmed for anger.

“Too fast, _Antiyam_ ,” Joshua said, ignoring Seungkwan. “You have to work up to it slowly, guide it, not let it bang through like that. It's the fastest way to end up with a frosty fire and a melted pot.”

“…what?” Seungkwan tried again, blinking anew as he stepped forward.

That managed to make some impression. The lot of them turned to look on him, expressions varying. Jeonghan was still laughing, but sobered, Joshua treated him to a frank up-and-down, and Kefta tutted softly as Volnayan tried to chivvy him back into the clan-home.

Irritated, feeling oddly awake, he tightened his hand on Selithaen's hilt and frowned. “What's going on here?” Something was niggling at him, demanding to be noticed…

“For the heavens' sake, cover yourself! We are in mixed company!” Volnayan hissed as he tried to hold out his over-robe wide enough to cover Seungkwan's dubious nudity. 

Feeling his temper fast approach some internal precipice, Seungkwan brushed him away. “What the hell is going on here? Are we under attack? Why's it smell like a lightning-storm here? Is someone hurt?”

Oddly enough it was Jeonghan that took pity on him. He said something to Volnayan, who straightened away from Seungkwan with a disapproving huff, and motioned to Kefta who had newly gotten the horses away from the idea of stampeding.

“No attack,” he said in a soothing, level voice. “Merely a lesson gone awry. Our protector had thought to teach me one of his tricks, for taking the fire from here and putting it there, but I do not have the knack yet.”

Seungkwan's mind stuttered again, enough that she didn't pay attention to Kefta slipping into the clan-home and emerging with a blanket for his naked shoulders, as well as Selithaen's sheath. “The Limani is teaching you magic?” he asked slowly. “Since when?”

Joshua gave a step forward. “The Limani is right here, Sir Mercenary. A few days now.” He was kind enough to leave off the _'and you should have noticed already'_ , but it was there in his eyes.

Seungkwan felt the sting of reproof nonetheless, even though it was as gentle as the wool blanket Kefta settled over his shoulders. “You can do this kind of magic?” he asked again of Jeonghan. When the niggling feeling finally settled in, he blinked. “And since when do you go about unveiled?”

The latter question provoked the most reaction: Jeonghan looked down at the smouldering remains of his fragile veil, now a mere ribbon over his face, and screamed loudly, covering his face with his hands as Joshua laughed brightly and tried to take a peek. Volnayan nearly ran him out of the ground to get to his lord. Feeling entirely unequal to the situation, Seungkwan muttered his thanks to Kefta and disappeared within.

He came out fully dressed fifteen minutes later, aware of the sullen silence at the frozen fire-pit, and went to go wash up and take care of his morning needs. The small rivulet serving their needs still had a thin film of ice on it, and he shivered as he washed as much as he could reach. The cold sang at him, shivering along his back, and he leant down to peer at his reflection in the water.

He looked cold and pinched, not surprising giving the icy water and rude awakening, but the rest of him seemed as normal as always - too-strong face, a body made lithe and strong by his job, the occasional scar. It was his hairline that made him swear, white roots staining through even more ashy-white against the brown dye than they had before.

_The dye wasn't difficult to get hold of, but I'm running low, and it wasn't as if apothecaries lined the road…_

The sullen silence had somewhat lifted when he returned, with Volnayan back in full steam making one of his magical meals. He sunk down, eyeing the wizard that had hauled Seungkwan’s saddle closer and seemed to be stitching at it, and Kefta hulking next to Jeonghan in the clan-home as he dictated something to him. The noble was back in a veil, this one thicker and covering all of him but smoky eyes.

Seungkwan sipped at the tea Volnayan handed him before he chose to butt-wiggle closer to Joshua. He didn't even have to speak; the mage begun in a rapid monotone, eyes intent on his handiwork.

“You know how rare the talent is in our land,” he explained quietly. “The power is dying out all over. Tartesse has already lost their magic, Antaria's well on the way there, and it's not as if the Qandeen and Limaelese are welcoming. To find someone with that much talent for it untutored, thrown away on some barbarian king that'll just use him as a seal of a treaty… it makes me so mad! He can't even read, Seungkwan - at least we teach our nobility that much. But he summoned a lightning-bolt! Right here, from a clean sky, because the pot wasn't heating up fast enough for him!”

Seungkwan murmured around his cup of tea, but stayed silent otherwise, and Joshua was more than happy enough to fill the empty space.

“I've given up on the idea of ever having an apprentice of any appreciable power. To find someone now, and a lord from another country, is the height of irony. I know that you don't know what it's like, your power is bound so tightly…”

Seungkwan lifted a finger to interrupt him. “Sorry, start that bit again. It's what?”

Joshua frowned at her. “Your power?” he tried again. “He told me about it through the woman servant. Something about disrupting an augury because your bindings sucked so much power out of the circle?”

Seungkwan arched his eyebrows slightly. “First of all,” he managed mildly, “her name is Kefta. Second, I don't know what you're talking about. All I do is have confusing nightmares sometime. I'd hardly call it some great gift of magic. Third, I'm not sure about this sudden startling friendship and mentorship you feel towards Jeonghan, but you might want to tread carefully. If he wanted to stop going towards Cascade and become an apprentice in Ciesse, I'm sure he would have said so already.”

Joshua bit the cord off with angry motions after weaving it into a self-tightening nod and tossed the saddle Seungkwan’s way. “How would you know? You've been mourning your dead friend so much it took a lightning-bolt in your porridge to wake you up. Some guard.”

Seungkwan stared at Joshua as he stood and stomped off into the underbrush, feeling as if he were bleeding out quietly from that last conversational dagger. For a moment his head spun as he tried to think of what to do next, what could make the moment stop stretching and twanging. The mage’s words were unfair, and more than unfair, but he couldn't deny their truth.

_Get up,_ something in him whispered. _Just get up. No one is paying you to cry after all._

So, with a smoother motion than he would give himself credit for, he got up and got on with things, relegating his feelings back to the back of his mind.


	7. Chapter 7

Things were quiet after that, careful, for at least a couple of days. Seungkwan stood his shifts and led as well as he was able, and said nothing as he watched the two getting closer, though his heart ached to warn them both. Whilst he didn't forget about Seungcheol, he tried actively to get his old control back, to be a mercenary worth the thousands he had saved for buying his freedom from the Guild back in Ollesh.

It was gone late afternoon on the eve of the second month that they finally got to the foot of the Isendris range and the large trade-town there. It was a bit quiet, given their unseasonal travel, but he needed an apothecary direly and Volnayan had gone past the point of sniffing at everyone's dirty attire, so a hot bath was probably needed as well. As they made their way to one of the gate-inns, he spent a moment looking around. It looked quiet and prosperous and not as if the country had just gone through a burning ordeal and was now facing a hard winter.

_Either he's a better king than I thought, or he has good people working for him._

He got off from her horse with far less of a creak than she thought. Whatever Joshua' manners were like - and his own not worth praising either – the mage had fixed his lumpy saddle, and he was actually not as spavined as he thought he'd be. Putting his hand on Selithaen's hilt, he submitted to the guards' peace-bonding and went to haggle for an inn. Five minutes later he had enough rooms for all of them, and shortly afterwards he set out again, determined to get his errands done whilst the others bathed.

He ambled up the street and eventually fetched up in a small, herb-scented room that the inn-wife had pointed her to. It didn't have much light penetrating to the interior, but it seemed clean and smelled sweet beneath the herbs, and he immediately liked the apple-cheeked smile of the granny behind the small counter. There was a small circle of women gossiping and knitting off to the side, but none looked up as he crossed to lean on the counter.

“Give you good day, mistress,” he greeted. “I hope I find you in good health, and your family and friends as well?”

“Well enough, lad,” the old woman said as she set her sorting aside. “It's not often we see your type around here anymore.”

“Where there's a king that knows what he's about, we don't often have work,” Seungkwan agreed. “I see now why fewer contracts are available for this direction these days - do you still accept the credit-letters and coins from Ollesh?”

“No problem yet, sonny. We're close enough to the border for traders to take 'em off my hands. Sit yourself down on that chair and let's have a bit of tea, and you can tell me what you need?”

Seungkwan sat and drank and talked, well-used to the kind of shop it was. Mercenaries were more than just hired fighters, after all, they were sources of gossip and sometimes couriers, and everyone enjoyed a fresh story. In between, his various needs got sorted with tisanes and powders, and the herb-witch shared what news she had from inland, and it wasn't until Seungkwan cautiously mentioned the dye that a problem reared its head.

“Gall-berries I have, and soot everyone has, but the shivering blue fungus is rare down here, we recently had a bad strain of flu and we've not had any new stock from down the mountains yet.” She leant closer to eye Seungkwan's hairline and frowned. “There's a lady that came through here a week ago, looking very grand, asking if we saw someone with white hair. Bit of an ass, didn't want to come here herself, just sent her servant in here to bellow. That hair what I think it is?”

Seungkwan's blush served as confirmation.

The granny hmm-ed and nodded. “Reckon you got your reason, but see's you stay out of their way on the road. That servant of hers, fearsome tough he looked like. Hideous wound too, an' I didn't like the way he moved, or that axe he had.”

Seungkwan blinked, mind spinning, and it felt as if his spine froze in little increments. “A… a man you say? Tall, my height and a little more, with thick black hair and a strong figure?”

“Aye, that'd be him, had more muscles on him than two piglets in a bag. Didn't catch his name, but he was fair scratched-up. Said he was in an avalanche, but I've seen scree-wounds before, they ain't like that. Least he spoke to a person, unlike that pointy foreign mistress of his, all slicked-back hair and rich clothes. I… lad, are you alright? You're looking nigh as white as your hair.”

_It can't be possible. It can't. I saw him die. It can't be Cheol-hyung…_

His lips pinched shut and he begged a piece of sackcloth and an old ember. He didn't even need to sketch out Back-biter's intricacies before the granny nodded. “That's the chopper yeah. You know him?”

Seungkwan nodded dumbly and gathered his packets. “I… yes, mistress. If you'll forgive me?” In his haste he overpaid by at least two marks, but didn't care as he ran back to the inn. By some unusual luck, he found everyone gathered in the small sitting room they had booked, and they looked up from unpacking and sorting through effects to stare at him.

Seungkwan wasn't quite sure what he looked like as he tried to catch his breath, but it took Joshua all of three seconds to bounce out of his chair and offer it, dragging over a small stool for himself.

“What?” Volnayan demanded. “You look as if you've seen a devil, lad. What is amiss?”

Seungkwan opened his mouth, closed it, and laid claim to the first wine glass he saw, tossing the dark red liquid in the back of his throat. It hit his empty gut like a hammer, and he burst out coughing. “Cheol- _hyung_ …” he managed to gasp out. “Old woman in the town saw Cheol- _hyung_. And Lady Jabrek. Oh gods…” He didn't even know which gods he was calling on, but it felt like a moment to accept any and all comers.

Jeonghan stared at him. “That can't be,” he said flatly. “You said she died. We burnt her.”

“Master,” Kefta said gently. “We burnt who we thought was her, but her face had been badly eaten at. It could have been someone else.”

“And they're asking about us,” Seungkwan said with mounting hysteria. “My dead best friend and your dead … whatever-she-was, is asking about us. She described Cheol- _hyung_ well, down to his axe, and we never got his body back. We looked, remember?”

Joshua cleared his throat. “Whoever they are, it's the darkest type of magic to make the dead walk around. I am no necromancer myself, but I've never heard of it being done without unwilling sacrifice, and a great deal of it. If that necromancer from the pass is after us for some reason, we're in real danger. She must be tremendously strong for her reach to keep anything animate this far.”

Jeonghan flicked him a look from behind his veil. “Or they carry an object, yes? Like the stories of men capturing a heart and making it into jewellery to make them beautiful forever.” One shoulder lifted nonchalantly. “Not everyone has my beauty.”

The very effortless way he said it, the arrogance that was as strong as fact, made Seungkwan's mind hitch for a moment, but he soon looked at Joshua as well, eyebrows arching inquisitively.

“Is that so?”

Joshua frowned, tapped fingers on his opposite sleeve. “There are very few stable magical objects in the world, it is not a working that we understand any longer. The old barges, the water heaters at some of the inns, some forges...”

It was a bare flicker of his eyes towards him, which Seungkwan pushed aside in his mounting nausea. “But it could be? She could have taken them and... and given them something to make them walk around again? How do we even fight something like that?”

“Fire," Joshua said promptly. “Fire is the great cleanser. If you can take the object and burn it, if it can burn, it will break the connection and release its power into the aether. Not quite harmlessly, but it can be done. The problem will be getting it from them. I don't suppose they were indifferent fighters?”

Kefta cleared her throat. “Lady Jabrek was, is, one of the Kalifa’s cousins, trained in swordplay since her youth. It was only that she had to fight a guard action against insurmountable odds that got her down, I think.”

Seungkwan nodded grimly. “I saw her fight. She might have had discreet horrors every time she looked at me, but that woman knew what she was about. Besides, Cheol-hyung was a _nordinner_. Not the strongest one I’ve ever heard of, but he didn't have to be. Have you ever heard of the one they called the Howling Fury?”

Joshua straightened and stared at her. “...Really?”

The Elantans quirked their heads. “What?” Jeonghan prodded.

“I thought it was a slander of some sort,” the mage explained. “Tartesse has the habit of hiring mercenaries to assist with their battles. It is said that the first force of our troops that faced him, a thousand strong, survived barely a few hours. The second force lay down their weapons and surrendered the town rather than fight the Howling Fury.”

“I've seen him berserk on the battlefields. It’s one of the most frightening memories I have,” Seungkwan added.

“I've only ever seen one other person fight that way,” Joshua confirmed quietly. “You, Seungkwan, on the day I found you mostly dead.”

Seungkwan blinked and shut up, shoulders curling inwards. It was still a mystery to him, that red hot rage that had taken him, that heaviness of prophecy and bone and knowledge that caused it.

Volnayan leant closer. “If you can’t defeat them by main force, you will have to defeat them by guile. If they have their powers still. The witch said they were here before, yes?” At Seungkwan’s nod, he returned it. “Then tonight we sleep, and sleep well. Jabrek was also a master of the Nine Methods. It’ll be easier to ambush us tomorrow on the road up to Subodhi, than here.”

Try as he might, Seungkwan could not disprove the wisdom in that, and betook himself to the baths instead, grimacing at the dishwater-dirty sludge that washed from his head as if it were the cause of everything.

_Surely they can't be after me now. It’s been ten years. Hae-il should be married by now, and Leelin too..._

His mind spun uneasily.

_And what was that, did Cheol-hyung pass on a measure of his battle-gifts to me at the end? Why is everything coming out now? I wish I had never heard of this mission! We could be back in Skellig-town, or somewhere else in Ollesh!_

His thoughts drowsed slowly as the heat relaxed his body. He settled his head against the rim of the large basin, enjoying the soak. The rhythmic shh-shh-shh of a maid scrubbing a floor somewhere close lulled his eyes closed, and he breathed out.

He wasn’t quite sure when that scrubbing turned to slow thunder, but it did, until it sounded more like flapping. He was, he came to realise, somehow flying, and for a moment he fell in it glad of the escape of his childish dreams of freedom.

His limbs were long and perfectly formed, shining a bright mother-of-pearl nacre in the sun, as if the scales that covered his hide had life in them. He banked over the landscape, feeling the terrible chill of a snowstorm around that did not, could not touch the fire-heat that burnt in him.

Down he dove through it, and came upon a tundra landscape with distant shaggy things walking in a line towards the sunrise. The light disappeared from his massive wings as he dipped low enough for the horizon to steal his light.

He was a swift, cold, silent death as he sunk four feet into the back of one of the elders of the herd, knowing enough not to take the younger, more lively stock. His new mate would not approve, and even the oldest one was large enough to make him strain as his wings beat for altitude.

The sickening crack of the thing's spine snapping under the weight of a massive white maw, seen for a split-second in the rheumy wetness of the old bull’s closest eye, made Seungkwan scream from sheer fright, and he was jerked out of the dream abruptly, flailing as he slipped underneath the soapy water.

Up became down, and his terrified mind lost all directly as he tried madly to get free and breathe. Water burned down into his lungs and the sides of the basin penned him in as he splashed and spun, fighting for air.

With a great crack something spilled him out and the basin away, and the water abruptly left, leaving him choked-up and coughing out soapy water over a pair of delicate hummingbird sandals.

_Really,_ Seungkwan thought in a dim haze of pain and mortification some moments later, _he's strong for all that he’s so slim._

He heard a smattering of disgusted Elantan, but Jeonghan hauled him up and around, combed milk-pale locks out of his face and knelt down almost in the vomit to prop Seungkwan up.

“I think,” he said in his cultured voice, “that drowning yourself is not the way to get out of this.”

Seungkwan’s weak laugh turned into a cough that tore and made his temples pound, almost like an oldster’s insistent pneumonia-soaked lungs.

“No," he managed in the end. “No, perhaps not. I did not try to, honestly, but I slipped as I turned.”

“Can you walk? You need to get into bed, and _Mehim_ and I can’t carry you, it’s not proper.” Jeonghan gave a pointed sniff. “They didn't want to let Kefta in here, no matter how much I try to explain. They must be stupid, these foreigners.”

Seungkwan didn't comment, but relied happily on the noble for a hand up and a towel as big as a small blanket. He had just about tottered his escape from the room when the question came.

“Why is your hair white now? Is it from shock?”

“From shock at that lightning-bolt maybe,” Seungkwan lied as he left. “You’re very powerful.”

The last thing he heard was another sniff, this one righteous, as if saying ‘Of course I’m powerful.’


End file.
